Middle Class Anxiety in “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” Malcolm Lamb Brigham Young University, [email protected]

Brigham Young University Masthead Logo BYU ScholarsArchive Modernist Short Story Project English Winter 2019 Middle Class Anxiety in “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” Malcolm Lamb Brigham Young University, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/mssp Part of the Literature in English, British Isles Commons Recommended Citation Lamb, Malcolm, "Middle Class Anxiety in “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe”" (2019). Modernist Short Story Project. 12. https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/mssp/12 This Article is brought to you for free and open access by the English at BYU ScholarsArchive. It has been accepted for inclusion in Modernist Short Story Project by an authorized administrator of BYU ScholarsArchive. For more information, please contact [email protected], [email protected]. Lamb 1 Malcolm Lamb Professor Watts English 376 22 April 2019 Middle Class Anxiety in “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” was published by The London Mercury in 1918 and would later be included as the seventh story in Ernest Bramah’s 1922 fantasy anthology, Kai Lung’s Golden Hours. Though published in a well-respected journal alongside the likes of Virginia Woolf and Siegfried Sassoon, “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” has little in common with the modernist trends of the early twentieth century. The story features no stream of consciousness, experimentation in new styles, epiphany, commentary on sexuality or gender, evocative imagery, reference to the Great War, or religious symbolism. In fact, it seems safe to suppose that Woolf would have handed Bramah the disdainful label of “materialist” had his name been of enough consequence within respected literary circles to warrant her attention. As it was, Bramah’s primary genre was pulp fiction, serialized adventure narratives in the vein of John Carter and Conan the Barbarian. Where modernism was exclusive and elitist, Bramah’s stories were unabashed populist entertainment. However, this is not to say that “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” is entirely without substance. In fact, contemporaries of Bramah, writing in the same genre, noted how, “[u]nlike most crime writers, [he] sometimes linked his stories to actual social problems of the period,” and “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” is no exception (“Ernest Bramah”). The rise of modernism coincided with that of the socialist movement, which had its beginnings in the Victorian Era, but hit its stride at the turn of the 20th century. Only a year before Bramah published “Wang-Ho and Lamb 2 the Burial Robe,” the Bolshevik Revolution had ousted the Russian Tsar with help from the Socialist Revolutionary Party, creating what would eventually become the Soviet Union (“Socialist Revolutionary Party”). The socialist movement had begun partly with Friedrich Engel’s The Condition of the Working Class in England, and was gaining steam in its country of origin, much to the anxiety of many in the middle class, including Bramah. At first glance, one could be forgiven for assuming “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” to be a Marxist fable about proletariat hero, Cheng-Lin, triumphing over his wealthy employer, Wang-Ho, and being freed from social stasis. But closer inspection reveals the story as a caution against socialism and an example of a middle-class fear linked to the establishment of fascist states in the wake of The Great War. Bramah uses “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” as an opportunity to present and explore Marxist dynamics but with enough key differences to make his opposition to the ideology unmistakable, most obviously in regards to his treatment of economic inequality. “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe” tells the story of Cheng-Lin, a young man who dreams of “[passing] the examination of the fourth degree of proficiency in the great literary competitions, and thereby qualify for a small official post” (Bramah 534). Theoretically, these examinations are open to anybody, but realistically, the exorbitant entrance fee, which Cheng-Lin cannot afford, places a glass ceiling above the head of anyone not already wealthy. The power of wealth is reinforced through textual analysis, which shows that the story most closely correlates the word “taels” (ancient Chinese currency used in the story) with the word “able” and “money” with “esteemed.” The wealthy are the ones who enjoy social status and who have the capacity for action, as contrasted to Cheng-Lin whose relative poverty has trapped him. In order to escape this trap, Cheng-Lin devises a plan to swindle Wang-Ho, a wealthy merchant for whom he works as a Lamb 3 scribe, out of the 500 taels he needs to break through the glass ceiling. This setup reflects the most basic of Marxist dynamics, that of the proletariat against the bourgeoise, but Bramah’s twist is in the details of the two characters’ situations. The key difference is that Bramah frames the inequality in the story as cosmic rather than oppressive, a decision which removes Cheng-Lin from the moral high ground he would otherwise be granted. Though Wang-Ho is harsh employer who treats Cheng-Lin poorly, lowering his pay with only “my word has become unbending iron” to say for himself, he is not the reason for Cheng-Lin’s poverty (537). He has never stolen from Cheng-Lin. Likewise, he has not become wealthy through exploitation. Wang-Ho made his money “advising those whose intention it was to hazard their earnings in the State lotteries,” an ability which he has always had and only requires him to “close his eyes and become inspired” (533). By painting Wang-Ho’s fortune as the result of luck and circumstance, Bramah acknowledges the socialist point that the question of whether or not wealth can actually be “earned” has validity (Wang-Ho certainly didn’t break a sweat earning his), but refuses to concede that Cheng-Lin has any more right to that wealth than Wang-Ho does. In doing this, Bramah denies Cheng-Lin the moral high ground granted to Robin Hood figures whose stealing is justified by the fact that those they rob from are thieves themselves. Wang-Ho is lucky, true, (so lucky that he once “predicted the success of every possible combination of [lottery] numbers), but that does not make him guilty (534). Bramah’s subversion of the proletariat hero continues with the revelation that Cheng- Lin’s plan hinges on using his literacy to fool Wang-Ho, who is illiterate. Until this point, money has been the absolute source of power in “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe,” but Cheng-Lin exposes this as false by using a doctored contract to part Wang-Ho from his 500 taels (Bramah 542). Power, it turns out, is tied to knowledge and capacity more tightly than to money and Lamb 4 status. Wang-Ho’s luck has gotten him far in life, but it cannot stand against a capable opponent actively working to take advantage of him. Textual analysis supports this, painting Cheng-Lin as an active agent rather than a passive victim by noting the strong correlation between his name, Lin, and the word “replied.” Forty-seven times other characters reply to Cheng-Lin which suggests that he is the one imposing his will on the story; he is the one that all the other characters react to. Traditional models of power are of no use to Wang-Ho who, despite the “many weapons which he always wore,” his wealth, and his connections with the local government, is powerless against Cheng-Lin. Convinced he is the underdog, Cheng-Lin never doubts that his actions are justified, and nearly the entire last page of the story is spent trying to convince “short-sighted” readers that he has done nothing wrong (543). Having earlier acknowledged the existence of economic and social barriers to upwards mobility, Bramah now rejects the notion that these barriers are impenetrable, and the close textual correlation between “age” and “office” (as in political office) seems to imply that the obstacles in Cheng-Lin’s way will eventually disappear as he grows older, but he robs Wang-Ho because he is too impatient to pay his dues before achieving success. Perhaps Bramah’s most nuanced observation with regards to societal dynamics appears in his treatment of tradition in the world of “Wang-Ho and the Burial Robe,” particularly in the way he melds it with superstition. The fulcrum around which this melding occurs is the story’s titular burial robe, a traditional garment explained to be worn by those approaching old age. To explain its exact purpose, I defer to Cheng-Lin: “Hitherto it has been assumed that for a funeral robe to exercise its most beneficial force it should be the work of a maiden of immature years, the assumption being that, having a Lamb 5 prolonged period of existence before her, the influence of longevity would pass through her fingers into the garment and in turn fortify the wearer.” (539) In response, Wang-Ho agrees with Cheng-Lin’s description of the robe, commenting that “the logic of it seems unassailable” (539). This is, of course, pure nonsense, even in the context of the story itself. No article of clothing has the power to lengthen its owners lifespan. However, the nonsensicality of the burial robe’s supposed powers has not prevented a thriving industry from springing up around it, as evidenced by the Golden Abacus, a revered establishment dedicated to producing them. Tradition, Bramah seems to imply, is superstitious and arbitrary by nature, but its effect on the real world is as tangible as the robe itself. That this statement about the arbitrary but practical nature of tradition also applies to social status is made obvious from the story’s first lines.

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